When I go to sleep at night
I leave the TV set on
With electric shadows
Flickering around the walls
Not because I fear the dark
Which is a friend of mine
But because silence is a threat
To my drifting vulnerable mind
And the open wounds of old

Silence allows my ghosts
To invade my imminent dreams
Some screaming in rage
As others whimper for love
Creating vivid nightmares
And drenching my very essence
So, when I go to sleep at night
I leave the TV set on

                                By Phil Roberts

It’s the Eye of the Sun,
                                     -staring down at me…

At night the mind of the Moon,
                                                  -so bright it’s all you see…

Seven Glorious Ones, Horus-Follower’s sons,
                                                   -and the cycle’s complete; time for a repeat!

Magic year, magic mind, Ozymandias seat,
                                                               a­ magic moment in time, 'ten found-on-the-line,' -mark a place where you'll be.                                                              ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                           
At the steps are the ones, ancient Kings of the Sun.
Torn apart by the people, when the harvest was done,
And solar barque crosses Styx, to the gates of Ammon…
Riders come from the steppe to see the death of the one,
Ancient King of the Sun redeem the land and the seed…
                                              -Rises up as Orion, again, and now he’s freed!


It’s the Eye of the Sun and the Lion is free, roaming over the lands, now the cycle’s complete…

Me, with a mat and a pillow
Lying alone in my terrace
With my hands on back
Supporting my head
Looking at the clouds
In different creations
Moving fast to their homes
Clearing the blue sky
Moon playing hide and seek
Behind the running clouds
The night breeze singing
Lullaby with a delicate touch
Asking me to close my eyes
Dreaming another day
With a wonderful morning

More than light,
In a land of woven echoes,
       Memory cascades between
A diaphanous glow and kisses
    The lips of eternal waters.

They're ******* the lid down
on the old town
and
I'm feeling the pinch.

It's a cinch that
I'll go too,

who else but me would
they
want to *****?

But they're barking up
the wrong tree.

I am the procession of Saints passing by
the sinners that make the Angels sigh
the low and the high and
why
would they want to *****
me down too?

You have seen it on the scoreboard
Demon-one
Lord-nil
you've had your fill of being used and accused
it's time for the night to be fused with the day, for
the Angels to step up to the mark
and say,
'**** this for a lark,
ain't nobody turning my town into a carpark'

Put your Posi drives down or go and
unscrew some other old town

time for the pigeons to come home and roost.

.

How do we mend wavering pedestals...
When the ground beneath is parched dry.
Stemming off loose foundations that time had weathered wry.

How do we mend broken gazes...
When watchful eyes which were meant to see,
are blinded by the onslaught of half-truths and fallacy.

How do we mend burnt bridges...
When we never look back to trace heavy missteps.
We fail to admit to consciously springing obvious traps.

How do I mend ailing hearts...
When familiar corridors seem warped to a bend.
When my own is struggling and perpetually on the mend.